


know tomorrow's at peace

by suspirium



Category: The Purge (Movies), The Purge (TV)
Genre: Found Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 18:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspirium/pseuds/suspirium
Summary: “Stay as long as you need,” Pete says. “Come see me in a few days, I’ll help you get back on your feet.” There’s nothing Miguel can do but nod, sleepily running the pads of his fingers over Pete’s knuckles. He keeps his eyes open long enough to watch Pete walk out the door then finally lets them slip shut.He falls asleep instantly, wakes up in a cold sweat fifteen minutes later, and doesn’t sleep again for two days.





	know tomorrow's at peace

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this before someone decided to get shot in the leg, so that didn't happen.

The morning after the Purge, Miguel is certain he’s not going to leave his bed for weeks. Pete takes him and Penelope to a hotel, books them two rooms connected by a door, lays down his card, and doesn’t leave until they’re safely inside. Miguel’s experiencing an adrenaline crash, _fast,_ and there’s barely enough happening in his head to do anything other than cling to Pete tightly and whisper his thanks into his neck.

Pete hugs him back firmly, steers him inside with a warm hand on his shoulder. He kisses Penelope one last time on the temple before seeing the two of them into their beds. He kneels by Miguel’s head, dark under-eye circles stark against the tired paleness of his skin, and scribbles his number on the pad of paper resting on the nightstand.

“Stay as long as you need,” he says. “Come see me in a few days, I’ll help you get back on your feet.” There’s nothing Miguel can do but nod, sleepily running the pads of his fingers over Pete’s knuckles. He keeps his eyes open long enough to watch Pete walk out the door then finally lets them slip shut.

He falls asleep instantly, wakes up in a cold sweat fifteen minutes later, and doesn’t sleep again for two days. 

—

A few days later he wakes up on the floor of the bathroom with Penelope staring worriedly down at him. She punches him in the shoulder, hisses, “I thought you were fucking _dead.”_

It’s an exaggeration, but he understands the sentiment. Not a night has gone by that he hasn’t checked Penelope’s room at least three or four times, certain he’s going to find her missing or worse.

“I got light-headed,” he says. “Just sat down to clear my head.”

“Well you’re not sitting anymore.”

There’s not really anything Miguel can say. She’s right, of course. He’s sprawled out across the tile, sleeping fitfully with a bed half a room away.

Over breakfast, cross-legged on Miguel’s bed, she says, “You should go to Pete’s. He keeps asking about you.”

“You’ve talked to him?”

“Every day. He said he tried you a few times but your phone was off.”

He had turned it off for that exact reason. He’s thought about Pete a lot, dreamed about him the few times he’s managed to fall asleep. The first couple times were Pete’s death, Purge night disasters that he didn’t manage to escape this time. The last time Pete had saved his life. Pulled him close, pressed him back against a wall, leaned in and -

He woke up gasping instead of screaming that time.

“Don’t run from him.” 

Penelope’s too intuitive for her fucking good. “I’m not-“

“Miguel.”

So he goes. Pulls himself up off the bed, washes his face, and throws on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Calls a car and finds himself dropped off outside Pete’s bar at one in the afternoon.

It’s quiet inside, a single customer propped up hazily against bar. The bartender from the other night is there, nods once at him when Miguel angles his head towards Pete’s office. He knocks lightly, listens for Pete’s assent before pushing open the door.

Pete’s on his feet as soon as Miguel slips inside. “Miguel.”

He takes a few steps along the wall, not wanting to intrude too much in Pete’s space. Drags his hand across the back of one of the scattered chairs, raps his knuckles against the wood there.

He grins shyly. “Hey.” 

“Christ,” Pete breathes and then he’s crossing the room, wrapping him up in a hug that Miguel returns just as tightly. A few deep breaths of Pete’s scent and Miguel can physically feel the tension draining from his body, being replaced by a pleasant sort of hum vibrating through his bones. After a few moments they separate, hands dragging across backs, resting on waists as they linger in each other space just a bit longer.

Pete clears his throat, takes a single step back. “How are you holding up?”

“Good. I’m good.” It’s the opposite of convincing. He tries again. “I’m okay.”

Pete nods. “Been thinking about you. Tried calling but - I wanted to give you some space.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry, I - I shouldn’t have brushed you off after-“

“It’s fine. Hey.” There’s a hand on Miguel’s shoulder, and he turns his head to look at it. “Seriously, it’s fine.”

It’s definitely not fine. _Miguel_ is definitely not fine. Pete risked his life for him, risked his life for Penelope, and Miguel’s been too afraid to talk to him out of fear that he’s just going to pat him on the shoulder and send him on his way. But now that he’s here, standing in Pete’s shadow, he wonders why he even considered that in the first place.

Pete’s a man, a tough one and a respected one, but he’s hovering in Miguel’s space like he can’t get enough of him. Like he’s concerned, for more reasons than Miguel’s general wellbeing, aching to reach out and touch him, to tuck him under his arms and look over every part of Miguel for potential hurt or damage and then do what he can to make it all go away.

Miguel hates the Purge. He hates it. But there’s a part of him, as much as he loathes to admit, that thinks it might have been fate. That him and Penelope were put through hell for the universe to prove to them that they could survive it, that everything they’ve been through hasn’t made them lesser human beings but rather the good in a society tainted with such bad. It’s having come face to face with that bad that’s left Miguel shaken, certain that even after those twelve hours someone’s going to swoop in and take the one ( _now two)_ good things in his life before he can stop them.

It’s not that Miguel’s trying to hide how scared he was, or is, or whatever is happening in his head right now. It’s that he’s trying to hide how _embarrassed_ he is over it. He’s been to war, he’s experienced loss, and death, and so much violence. But this. The Purge touched things in his backyard, in his home. Things that he wanted to believe were untouchable. And he can’t seem to recover from it. 

But his reward, it seems, is this. 

He loathes to admit it, that it was fate, but the Purge brought him this, put him through hell but then gave him a light, one he wouldn’t have met if the whole thing hadn’t played out the way it did. If he could go back, of course, he would choose his sister’s happiness and safety over having any of this. Would save her the fear and the heartbreak and whatever she was feeling that left her on that bus in the first place. But he can’t go back and he can’t protect her from that, so at least he gets to look at what it brought them. Who it gave him. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” he says, gripping Pete’s hand in his own. “What you did for us-“

“You deserve it.” There’s no hesitation. Just Pete looking him dead in the eye, squeezing his shoulder tightly. “I’m glad I did what I did.”

Miguel isn’t sure the last time someone assumed such worth in him, certain it’s never happened so quickly, if even at all. He’s spent his life since his childhood fighting for a place in the world, looking out for his sister with no-one to look after him. And here’s this man he just met, revered by those around him, staring Miguel in the face and saying his life was worth risking his own. Was worth killing for. 

He swallows around the lump in his throat. 

“I don’t know what to say to that.” He lets go of Pete’s hand, scratches the back of his neck. “Just know how much it means to me. How much _you_ mean to me.”

This feels like more words than he’s said in days. But it needs to be said, so he stands in front of Pete, lays himself bare. Tries not to blush, tries not to shy away, tries not to slip back into his shell and pretend like he has this all under control. 

Pete grips him by the nape of the neck, places a firm kiss on his forehead. Miguel keens, embarrassingly and without thought, rocking into Pete’s solid weight. 

Pete freezes. There’s inches of space between them, if that, and Miguel is torn between closing it or turning tail and leaving forever. He thinks if he leaves he’ll probably never get over it. 

There’s slight, warm breath against his temple. “Kid-“ 

“I’m not a kid.” Pete huffs out a fond, exasperated laugh. “You’re twenty years younger than me.” 

“That doesn’t make me a kid.”

He gets silence in response.

Finally, Pete shifts over him, tilting his head toward Miguel’s face. Miguel averts his eyes stubbornly, fixing them on the pocket of Pete’s t-shirt. It looks soft and he wants to touch it, both over it and then sliding underneath. He imagines slipping out of Pete’s bed some hazy morning, picking it up off the floor, and sliding it over his own shoulders.

“I know that,” Pete says, softly. There’s a thumb tracing slowly over Miguel’s jaw. He angles his chin up slightly. 

“I’m not a child.” He sounds like a child. A petulant one. 

“I _know,_ ” Pete soothes. Miguel reaches up and rests his hand on Pete’s biceps, large muscles straining under his palms. He drags his hands down to Pete’s elbows, then back up to slip under his sleeves. This has escalated, quickly, but it’s right, and he’s positive Pete feels it too.

He leans in and noses at Pete’s neck, inhales deeply as Pete shivers above him. “So don’t treat me like one.”

He places a kiss, close-lipped and shy, then another. Just a hint of tongue tracing the goosebumps over Pete’s throat. He knows with sudden certainty that Pete isn’t going to push him away.

He inches closer, a few shuffling steps until their toes bump. “Please, Pete,” he begs, sweetly, and then Pete’s arm is sliding around his waist, turning him around and flipping their positions. He throws his hands up against the wall, bracketing Miguel’s head between them.

Miguel stays tucked against his body, fingers hooking in the belt loops on Pete’s pants. It’s painfully erotic, sending a burning ache shooting down his spine and back up again.

“What do you need?” Miguel takes a shuddering breath and presses his nose deeper into Pete’s neck. _I need you,_ Miguel thinks. _I need peace, I need stability. I need something to come home to that makes me forget how horrible this world is. I need someone to hold me up._

_I need you._

There’s a feather-light touch over the curve of his ear. 

“Miguel.” 

He reaches up and catches Pete’s wrist, pressing his thumb into the concave of Pete’s palm and leading it to his hip. A slight tilt of his head put his lips back against the skin of Pete’s neck. “Put your hands on me,” he says.

There’s a sharp inhale above him. Pete’s left hand leaves the wall by Miguel’s head and joins his other on Miguel’s hips.

Miguel digs deeper. He nuzzles at the underside of Pete’s jaw, revels in the rasp of his stubble. “Pete,” he murmurs, and Pete’s hands tighten. There’s a roughness to Miguel’s voice that wasn’t there before. “Touch me.”

Miguel’s shirt is over his head before he can blink, thrown to the back of the room as Pete crowds him against the wall. Pete towers over him, a good six or seven inches taller than Miguel’s frame, and he’s quick to pull him back down with a hand to the back of the head. Their foreheads rest against each other, noses brushing as Pete stares down at the broad spread of his fingers on Miguel’s ribs.

Miguel arches his back off the wall into Pete’s touch. He gently headbutts the bottom of Pete’s chin then nips at his bottom lip. 

He looks up at Pete through his eyelashes. “Pete,” he says, lowly. Pete turns his head slightly in response, closing his eyes as he inhales deeply through the nose pressed to Miguel’s temple. “Pete, if you want me-“

And then they’re kissing, the flat of Pete’s tongue dragging up Miguel’s bottom lip before he surges forward and captures his mouth. All at once, Miguel feels the strength of his hands against his chest, the hard jut of Pete’s cock against his stomach. There’s tension shooting through Pete’s body, raw power just hardly being kept under control. It’s overwhelming.

He bends his hand around the curve of Pete’s cheek, rubs his thumb against the bone there. “Want you,” Pete rasps against his mouth. Another quick bite to the lip earns Miguel a sharp shove against the wall, Pete’s thigh sliding in to press hotly between his legs as their bodies come together.

He rewards Pete with a dirty roll of his hips and Pete catches him at the top of his thigh, big hands sliding around Miguel’s lower back to pull them flush. Miguel hears the hitch in his own breath, hands scrabbling for purchase around Pete’s broad shoulders. They exhale, together, then grind their hips slowly in sync.

It’s good. It’s so so good, and Miguel feels his earlier desperation well up horribly within his chest. Pete’s hand slides down to his thigh, lifting Miguel’s leg to wrap around his own. Miguel bites down the urge to climb up his body and into his arms completely. Instead, he slides his hands up Pete’s neck to rest at the line of his hair, angling his head so Miguel can kiss him again. 

Logically, he knows they have time, that there’s no danger knocking at their door, but his body has been in perpetual fight or flight since the night of the Purge and it’s not about to slow down now. They rock together urgently, kissing technique thrown out the window in favor of breathing wetly into each other’s mouths. There’s no close enough, no way they can get enough of each other, but Miguel will be damned if he doesn’t all but try and climb under Pete’s skin and directly into his heart.

Pete gives a single harsh snap of his hips, forcing their lips apart and ripping a surprised moan from deep within Miguel’s chest. He goes for Miguel’s neck and Miguel gives it to him gladly, relishing the feel of Pete’s lips against his pulse. He’s too far gone to get Pete’s shirt over his head but pulling it up his back allows him to at least drag his nails against the curl of Pete’s spine, something that rewards him with a full body shutter and a stutter in Pete’s hips.

Pete releases his leg in exchange for sliding his hands under the waistband of Miguel’s sweats. Miguel is on fire everywhere their skin meets, a desperate need to have Pete inside of him shooting through his veins as Pete’s hands grip firmly at his ass. He rests his lips against Pete’s short hair, tries to control his breathing enough to form words.

“Do you wanna take me home, Pete?” he questions, working hard to suppress the shake in his voice. “Put me in your bed, take me apart?” Pete moans softly against his neck, nodding his head as he drags his lips up to Miguel’s ear. “Never let you leave,” he breathes, as he draws his teeth over the lobe.

Miguel lets out a happy sigh. “Never want to.”

Pete swears and steps back, yanking Miguel with him as he stumbles into a chair. Miguel takes the opportunity to grip the bottom of Pete’s t-shirt, pulling it up and over Pete’s head before he collapses on the seat. He falls into Pete’s lap, bare skin to bare skin, and lets his hands trail over the muscles of his chest.

A pleasant ache burns through his legs where they’re spread across Pete’s broad thighs. He shifts his hips, feels the bulge in Pete’s pants, hooks a hand on the back of the chair, and drags hard against it. There’s a sloppy kiss against his collarbone, and then his neck, and then deep and dirty against his lips. He opens his mouth and lets Pete lick inside.

On Miguel’s next rock down, Pete lifts his hips to meet him. The pace is urgent and their lips are desperate, but Pete’s hands are gentle, one resting against his lower back and the other cradling his head. He tries to lose himself in the savory press of their bodies, the fire burning under his skin, but his attention keeps returning to the tenderness of Pete’s hold.

Miguel is so tired of violence. He wants this feeling, always. Forever.

A shaky exhale escapes him. Pete gives him a moment to catch his breath, shifts to place a barely-there kiss just outside the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got you,” he rumbles against Miguel’s cheek.

There’s a sharp sting of tears at the corner of Miguel’s eyes. He shies away from Pete’s face, craning his neck to hide in the crook of Pete’s shoulder. “It’s alright, kid,” Pete continues. “I’ve got you.”

He presses a grateful kiss to Pete’s throat. Pete wraps his arms around him, accepting Miguel’s weight as he sinks into his chest. Each rock of their hips grinds his cock against Pete’s stomach, each release drags his ass against Pete’s dick.

Miguel’s eyes flutter shut as his hand traces its way up the far side of Pete’s neck. There’s a sweaty, salty flavor against Miguel’s lips, and Miguel can feel it perspiring between their chests as well, each slide slipping a little more smoothly than the last.

He doesn’t realize he’s whimpering until Pete shushes him gently, rubbing a soothing hand up and down the bumps of Miguel’s spine. There’s a tremble behind Pete’s fingers as well, and Miguel allows himself to believe that maybe Pete has been taking these days apart just as hard as he has. That he’s maybe been straining for this as much as Miguel.

He lifts his head, captures Pete’s face between his palms, and kisses him hard.

“Please,” he says against his lips, and Pete nods. “Alright, baby,” Pete soothes, and then he’s suckling gently on Miguel’s lower lip, dipping a hand in the front of Miguel’s sweats and gripping tight, stroking one, two, _three,_ as Miguel gasps and comes. He milks him through it, waits to release his cock until Miguel’s hips have stopped rocking.

Sweet, boneless relaxation spread’s through Miguel’s body as Pete holds him through his orgasm. He gives a shaky little moan, rubbing his thumb once more against Pete’s cheekbone as he revels in his cleared head.

Pressing a kiss to Miguel’s cheekbone, Pete carefully pulls his hand free. Miguel returns the gesture with a kiss to Pete’s jaw, then catches Pete’s wrist and lifts it eye-level. He licks a stripe up Pete’s palm, drawing his index finger into his mouth before releasing it with a soft _pop._  

He slides off Pete’s lap and sinks to a crouch between his legs. “You don’t have to-“ Pete starts, but Miguel cuts him off with a ‘ _Hush’_ as he draws a hand over the material covering Pete’s cock. He draws down the zipper, pulls his dick free from the briefs he’s wearing underneath. Without pause, he leans forward and trails his tongue up the length of it, taking Pete into his mouth as he reaches the tip.

And this - this is something Miguel thinks he could do forever. He hears the catch in Pete’s breath, feels the jerk of his body as he leans forward in his chair. Long fingers wrap gingerly around the back of his head. Miguel wishes he had hair long enough to grab, long enough for Pete to tangle his hand in and _yank._

Pete’s a gentleman, though, doesn’t do anything but rest there softly. Miguel huddles close in the v of his open legs, makes a home there as he closes his eyes and breathes evenly through his nose. One of his hands slides up Pete’s calf, then over his knee and up to clasp his thigh. A sweet hum makes Pete close his legs around him almost imperceptibly.

He reaches behind him to cover Pete’s hand with his own, glancing underneath his eyelashes to catch his stare. There’s a flush spreading from Pete’s face, down his neck and onto his chest. Miguel wishes he had thought to suck a bruise into the skin there, a nice dark mark to identify as his own. 

Chest rising and falling under Miguel’s gaze, Pete’s mouth goes slack as he stares down at him. With his full attention, Miguel slowly drags Pete’s hand past his ear and onto his face, canting his head towards it as he allows Pete to feel his own cock pressed against the inside of Miguel’s cheek.

Pete shuts his eyes momentarily as he lets out a broken moan. His fingers brush slowly, reverently over the outline and Miguel lets him have it for a brief moment before turning his head and swallowing Pete down to the base. “Goddamn,“ Pete sighs, hand returning to the back of Miguel’s head. His hips twitch but he fights it, and Miguel rewards him by hollowing his cheeks and sucking as he drags his lips up to the tip of Pete’s cock.

He curls his tongue around the sensitive head before dragging it across the slit, taking him deep into his throat one last time as Pete stutters out a warning. Pete comes, hand tightening in his hair before releasing just as fast, and Miguel swallows it down as Pete groans his name.

Gently, he retreats, giving Pete one last soft stroke with his hand as he places a kiss to the damp skin. Pete’s hand leaves the back of his head, tucking himself back into his briefs as Miguel rocks back on his heels and catches his breath, and Miguel is hit with the unreasonable urge pull Pete down to the floor with him, get him naked, and do this all over again. To not let this moment get away from him, ever. The look Pete’s giving him makes him think he might actually go with it if he tried.

Eventually, Pete slouches down in the chair, tilting his head to rest against the back of it. “Jesus, kid,” he laughs, more than a little breathlessly, and Miguel takes a moment to lean his forehead against the inside of Pete’s knee. He takes a deep breath, then another, exhaustion rolling over him like a tidal wave.

“Hey,” Pete says, and Miguel swivels his head on Pete’s knee to look at him. Pete offers him a hand, palm up and Miguel takes it, allowing Pete to pull him up to his feet. He tilts his chin up as Miguel stands over him, drags his nose up Miguel’s cheek as he settles down in Pete’s lap. “You okay?”

Miguel searches Pete’s face for regret, finds nothing but affection and a touch of concern. He nods. “Yeah.”

He clears his throat, flushes at how rough he sounds. The corner of Pete’s mouth lifts warmly. Slowly, Pete lifts a hand and brushes it across Miguel’s forehead. He leans up, presses a cautious kiss to the bow of Miguel’s top lip, and Miguel lets his eyes flutter shut at the movement. 

“Can I…,” he trails off. Pete squeezes his hip encouragingly. “Can I stay here? Just for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Pete says, immediately. “Yeah, of course you can.”

He wraps his arms tightly around Miguel’s waist, seeming to understand that _here_ isn’t just this room but rather curled up in Pete’s lap. It’s peaceful and it’s lovely, and Miguel thinks this is maybe the one safe space left in his life.

“I have a place a few minutes from here,” Pete says, breaking the fragile silence around them. “There’s more than enough room for you, and for Penelope. You’re welcome to come stay until you find someplace else. Or whenever.”

There’s honestly no place else Miguel would rather be. He sits up straight, staring at Pete in wonder.

Pete reaches out tenderly, runs a thumb over the dark circle under Miguel’s eye. “Might help you sleep better.” And Miguel wants to _cry_ with those few words, with how much the weight of the past few days seems to finally clear his head. With something to look forward to like the comfort of Pete’s bed, the warmth of Pete’s body, the knowledge of Penelope’s safety within the home of someone who would die before letting anything happen to her.

With the sudden, clear memory of what Pete had said to those girls at the roadblock. His reason for putting himself at risk on the night of the Purge.

He cups Pete’s cheek in his palm. “Family business.”

Pete’s mouth parts, his tongue appearing just barely over his lower lip. He lifts a hand, mirroring Miguel’s gesture.

He nods. “Family business.”

They kiss, slow and so, so sweet. Miguel runs his tongue against Pete’s bottom lip, who lets him inside and gracefully engages him with his own. They separate, only to come together for a few more seconds that make Miguel’s toes absolutely curl.

“C’mon,” Pete says, lips brushing his favorite spot at the corner of Miguel’s mouth as he pulls just barely away.

“Let’s go home.”


End file.
